


Daft Dwarves and Drunk Declarations

by HallsofStone2941



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Drunk Thorin, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsofStone2941/pseuds/HallsofStone2941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend gave me the prompt: "are you drunk?" </p>
<p>So have a little ridiculous drunk Thorin and exasperated Bilbo :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daft Dwarves and Drunk Declarations

**Author's Note:**

> The first thing I wanna say is that this fic is dedicated entirely to my friend and roommate, who I recently dragged into the Tolkien fandom and basically drowned in angsty Bagginshield feels. This is my way of thanking her for putting up with my shenanigans, which include flopping all over the floor of her room and whining loudly when I can't write.
> 
> Second thing I wanna say is that this is ridiculous, amusing fluff and I really don't know how there isn't a single drop of angst in here. It took forever to find something that wouldn't have some sort of angst in it, but once I did, the result was...this.
> 
> Third thing I wanna say is that I have no idea what drunk slurring sounds like, so I apologize if it seems inconsistent.

The candle flickers warmly as Bilbo hunches over his desk, quill moving steading across the page as he writes the letter to his uncle. It will be sent in a few days, accompanying the Dwarves that will set out to reach the mountain passes just as winter relinquishes its grip on them. Its contents are simple enough - a brief explanation to the Thain that Bilbo is still alive, and will be heading back to the Shire once the weather has warmed. In the meantime, he writes, he expects that no one try to declare him dead or take possession of Bag End.

_“I should also add, Dearest Uncle, that I will not be remaining in the Shire for a great length of time. The King of Dwarves has offered me a place in his homeland, and I find myself quite disinclined to refuse. As such, I will simply be returning to Hobbiton to collect those belongings which I would like to have here. Of most import to me is my father’s armchair and the books in my study; if you could please arrange for these to be packed before I return, I would be most grateful. The rest of my belongings I will take care of myself. I will, of course, make sure to give a proper farewell to all my wonderful relatives and admirable friends” -_ what few there are, Bilbo thinks _\- “and handle the affairs of Bag End properly before I go._

_Until the spring dawns, dear Uncle. Yours truly,_

_Bilbo Baggins, Esq.”_

He’s just folding the letter in its assigned envelope when he hears raucous laughter outside his room. He smiles to himself; the Company had set itself another night of drinking and cheer, but Bilbo had found that he desired a quieter evening. His companions had been surprised but not terribly disappointed - after all, there is always tomorrow.

He’s startled out of his revery when there’s a knocking - or rather, more of a banging - on his door. He rises out of his chair to answer it, but it swings open rather suddenly before he can reach it, and in stumbles in a red-faced and grinning Thorin.

“Bilbo!” Thorin says happily once he sees the Hobbit. “Why’re you ‘ere? I don’ rem’mber - _hic_ \- invitin’ you t’ m’ room. No’ tha’ I minnnd,” the Dwarf King attempts to waggle his eyebrows.

“Thorin Oakenshield, are you drunk?”

“No!” Thorin responds, looking insulted. “-- _hic_...maybe,” he amends sheepishly. He strides over to Bilbo, though in his inebriated state, it’s more of a half-swagger, half-wobble. The Hobbit is prepared to catch him, should he fall. “The important thing, my Halfl’ng dear,” Thorin announces imperiously, a finger pointing straight up in the air, “is that I beat Dwalin.”

The finger lands on Bilbo’s nose, causing him to twitch it. The movement makes Thorin grin wider, and a giggle leaves the King’s mouth.

“At drinking, I assume,” Bilbo retorts evenly, catching the wayward finger in his hands. “But you’re still terrible at directions. This is my room, you daft Dwarf.”

Thorin frowns petulantly. “I know f’r a fact, Master Baglur--Master Burgin--Biblo--Hobbit!” Thorin’s attention drifts, and he looks mightily pleased with himself for finally finding the name. Then he blinks and turns back to Bilbo. “It appears I am in the wrong room.” The Dwarf looks so confused and lost that Bilbo can’t help but chuckle quietly.

“Come on,” he says fondly, reaching on his tiptoes to kiss Thorin’s cheek. “Let’s get you--” he stops talking as Thorin follows his lips, leaning forward in what Bilbo thinks is an attempt for a kiss, but ends up landing his nose in the Hobbit’s neck. BIlbo thanks his large feet that they both hadn’t gone stumbling backward. Although, he’s not sure Thorin would have minded, since instead of righting himself, the Dwarf King hasn’t moved from his place beneath Bilbo’s jaw, and is... _sniffing?_ the juncture between neck and shoulder.

“Thorin,” Bilbo says firmly, pushing at the body that has almost completely draped itself on his form. With no small amount of effort, he’s able to balance the Dwarf into a standing position. “Bed,” Bilbo says firmly. Thorin’s eyes flicker lazily over Bilbo’s shoulder, no doubt looking at the bed that sits there, waiting temptingly. A small smirk begins to form--

“No, Thorin, _your_ bed.” Bilbo stands firmly in the Dwarf’s way, one hand staying on his shoulder in case he starts to tip. Thorin stares at him for a long time, eyes slightly unfocused, before mechanically turning around and striding -- no, staggering, though very regally, Bilbo must admit -- toward the door. And crashes his left arm rather harshly into the doorframe, stumbling back from the force. Bilbo rushes forward, steadying Thorin, and carefully steers him through the doorway, across the hall, and into his own chambers. Thorin, mercifully, goes without a fuss.

“Boots off,” Bilbo order. “Belt, too, if you can manage it.”

“Master Bagg’ns, I do b’lieve you’re trying t’ get me undressed,” Thorin muses, though he obeys. Bilbo decides not to respond - at this, ahem, _stage_ in their relationship, getting Thorin undressed would hardly be a novel experience. “Come on, you ridiculous Dwarf. In bed with you.”

“Wai’ ,wai’, wai’,” Thorin mumbles as Bilbo pulls the covers back. “Bilbo I have t’ tell you, I have to--”

“I’m sure it can wait until morning,” Bilbo soothes, pushing Thorin to sit on the bed.

“No!” Thorin shoots up, unsteady on his feet. “I have t’ tell you, no, tell everyone, the whole worl'!” he announces dramatically, waving his arms about and subsequently sending himself reeling back to sit on the bed. Bilbo raises an eyebrow as Thorin stands again, his expression saying 'I meant to do that'.

“And what is it you want to tell me so bad?” he inquires, because it seems that Thorin won’t be subdued until he says whatever is on his mind.

“I’ll tell you now, I’ll tell the whole worl' now,” Thorin repeats importantly. Bilbo waits. The Dwarf leans forward, and Bilbo automatically braces his hands on Thorin’s chest, not wanting for him to fall forward and become sandwiched between the floor and a drunk king. Thorin’s head lowers until his lips are next to Bilbo’s ear.

“I love you,” he whispers unexpectedly, then falls back into the bed while Bilbo tries to hide his shock.

They’ve said it, of course. It had fallen on bloodied lips, when they both feared farewell, and again on a healing cot in a tent that did little to block the chill of the winter’s wind; they had whispered it one sacred night in Laketown, and had murmured it after the coronation. But the words, the feelings, the implications of everything those eight little letters hold, are something Bilbo hasn’t been able to comprehend yet. He isn’t used to declarations of love, not so many years after living alone, bereft of even genuine friendship. Thorin, it appears, is determined to set this right.

“I love you too, you daft Dwarf,” Bilbo murmurs, pulling the covers of the bed over Thorin’s form. “But I thought you said you were going to tell the world?”

“I did,” Thorin states. “You’re my worl', Bilbo.” And he looks at the Hobbit with such clear, honest, _blue_ eyes that Bilbo’s face turns bright red. Thorin smiles beatifically, reaching up with one hand to cup one of Bilbo’s flaming cheeks. “You’re so cute when you blush,” he tells him fondly.

“Enough, Thorin,” Bilbo is thoroughly embarrassed now. “Go to sleep,” he says more softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Thorin’s lips. Thorin reciprocates, hand curling loosely through Bilbo’s hair before falling on his chest as Bilbo straightens up.

“Goodnight, Thorin,” he murmurs, turning to leave.

A warm, callused hand catches his, and Bilbo turns back to see Thorin pouting slightly.

“Stay with me t’night,” Thorin pleads. Bilbo looks at the bed, then at his and Thorin’s open doors. He sighs, then shrugs, gesturing quickly to one of the guards to close them. He turns back to the bed, pulling the covers up once more as Thorin clumsily scoots away from the edge, allowing Bilbo room to lie down.

As soon as the Hobbit is situated, Thorin immediately rolls so that he’s plastered to Bilbo’s side, arms curling around him, head using his burglar’s chest as a pillow. Bilbo tries not to giggle as Thorin snuggles closer, rubbing his face in the soft cloth of Bilbo’s shirt.

“For Eru’s sake, go to _sleep_ , Thorin,” Bilbo huffs, laughing quietly.

“Am asl’’p,” is the muzzy response. Bilbo’s hand comes up to stroke through Thorin’s mane of hair, making the Dwarf nuzzle a little deeper into his embrace. The repetitive motion of Bilbo’s fingers carding through Thorin’s hair sends Thorin to sleep in moments, with Bilbo following soon behind.

_A daft Dwarf he may be_ , Bilbo admits sleepily, shuffling to wrap his arms more securely around Thorin. _But he is_ my _daft Dwarf_.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to chat w/ me about dumbass dorks in love at my [tumblr](http://hallsofstone2941.tumblr.com). If you'd also like to send thanks to my wonderful friend, who's been feeding my muse lately, then feel free to do so! I'll pass your comments along until I convince her to get a tumblr of her own.
> 
> Also lmk if you see grammar/spelling/punctuation errors - I'd like to fix those, if they're there.


End file.
